Eileen didn't always attend events that perpetuated house pride; she hadn't always, in the past, felt implicated in the bonding and team-spirit that quidditch games seemed designed to perpetuate. Eileen was, of course, perpetually inclined to imagining herself outside of such things, whether or not she belonged quite as on the edges as she seemed determined to make herself. So it wouldn't have occurred to Eileen to attend the quidditch game, necessarily, had it not occurred to Zamira to take her by the arm and bring her along, without stopping to ask whether this was desired. This didn't mean that Eileen would have objected: she understood quidditch, though she couldn't be said to be greatly interested in it, but mostly, she was, as usual, happy (if a little surprised) to be invited and included. She had by now grown used to friendship with Zamira, thoguh she wasn't the best at having expectations.
So she was a willing companion, on the way down to the pitch, and back up to the tall stands, where they had found space for two on a bench in the midst of other students, wrapped up in winter cloaks and sporting green banners and scarves. Eileen sat, her posture questionable, and her gaze out at the tiny figures above, sharp and a little curious. It wasn't her first quidditch game, obviously, but it was the first that she thought she might properly enjoy. She liked this thought, even if she found it strange, and she sat back on the seat, meaning to look more at ease, than probably she did, her sharpish features set and concentrated, as she glanced at her friend beside her. "Do you always come to these?"
Though Zamira wasn't the biggest fan of quidditch, she couldn't honestly say that she didn't enjoy it. There was something thrilling about a game where being smacked in the mouth or chest with what was effectively a cannon ball was commonplace, and it made it even more exciting that it was fifty feet in the air; there was bloodshed in almost every game, and though she was naturally revolted by violence, there seemed to be an odd exception to sporting games. Perhaps it was that she knew any injury would soon be resolved, or perhaps it was the difference in motive - regardless, quidditch appeared to something primal within her, and had she not been so wrapped up in her personal safety and keeping herself out of harms way, it might have been a hobby she tried to indulge in. For this reason she carried a measure of respect for Winky Crockett, the female captain of the all-male and all-belligerent Slytherin team; it took serious courage to be a sportswoman in times and houses like hers.
Even if she hadn't enjoyed it, there was the question of the paper to attend to, and even though she knew Betty would be taking notes, it was always a good idea for the both of them to do so. It was less easy to accuse the paper of house bias if correspondents from both Gryffindor and Slytherin were in attendance, and even more difficult if both of their names were going to be on the article.
That didn't, however, mean she had to attend the match alone. Though she'd originally intended to just find Erica and drag her along - so the other girl could fawn over Rudolf, if nothing else - she had found herself woefully unable to find her best friend, and running slightly late. It had been a relief, then, to catch sight of Eileen Prince, and she'd grabbed her arm and begun to pull her in the direction of the pitch before she'd even bothered to explain what they were doing. Friendship with Zamira was an unusual state of being, but it was one that Eileen was increasingly falling into, and Zamira tended to expect her friends to keep her company when she was in requirement; she was rather selfish like that.
So, having dragged Eileen the entire way and up the stairs, she had settled them both into the back seats and was shuffling through her satchel in order to look for a quill as the warm-ups began and the seats around them began to fill up. It always surprised her how many Slytherins came to these things - she had sometimes wondered if the sport didn't seem beneath them. But, then, she supposed that the enjoyment of watching lesser individuals suffer was a hallmark of her house.
"Always," she replied, glancing back up as she finally found a (slightly ragged) quill and parchment. "But it's much more fun when you have someone to talk to."